


Breaking In and Shaping Up

by rebelwriter6561



Series: Under the Mask [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Bad First Impressions, Breaking and Entering, Fake AH Crew, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Violence, shit gets fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit Gets Fucked Up” is the maxim of Los Santos. And when that happens you just have to deal with it. Even when you break into the house of the most dangerous criminal in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How To Talk Your Way Out Of Being Killed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dove into the depths of my tumblr likes to find the post this is loosely based on  
> http://tickatocka.tumblr.com/post/85456038831/i-really-want-an-i-accidentally-broke-into-your

The point, Ryan mused, of having the most high-tech and powerful security system available is that it should work, and work well, and be functional at keeping kids out of his house and off his damn couch.

Ryan sighed, trying to wrap his head around this. The system was armed last night, he did it himself, everything was locked up, he’d ensured that. But there was no denying that there was someone asleep on his couch that was not his cat and did not belong there. So something had gone wrong somewhere.

The cat was also accounted for. The point of the cat was to keep _him_ company, not abandon his bed to sleep on the damn couch with some kid who was not supposed to be there in the first place. Edgar, the traitor, watched him with hard eyes. Ryan glared right back. He liked cats, and liked how they hated almost everyone except who fed them. Edgar was being quite rude, but he was glad he hadn't hightailed it out the open window.

But…the window was actually closed. Stranger kid had the decency to close his window after trespassing, crashing on his couch, and stealing his cat's affections. And the old quilt of his mother’s which was taken from the back of the couch to cover the kid’s lower half. There was a gun on the floor, next to a hoodie and a pair of pants, so Ryan stole those and retreated to the kitchen, where his much-needed coffee and probably-busted alarm system waited.

Coffee in hand, Ryan examined the alarm system, frown deepening. The system wasn't busted, it was on, and working perfectly. He checked the log, and saw that it was deactivated at three in the morning, then restarted a few minutes later. So the kid managed to break in, turn off his alarm, _properly_ , and turned it back on without tripping it. Or alerting Ryan. Impressive, but unwelcome. Like the kid on his couch.

The mystery deepened when he started examining the pile of clothes. The gun was loaded but the safety was on, and it lacked the nicks and marks a frequently-used gun collected. The cell phone seemed similarly not-used, and had no names with the numbers. If he to guess, it probably had it's tracking chip disabled too. Burner gun, burner cell, and the giant wad of cash in the hoodie pocket gave Ryan an idea about what this kid had been up to before crashing on Ryan's couch.

So, how best to proceed…

The burner phone buzzed on the table. Ryan examined the text, which appeared to be something along the lines of "Where the fuck are you?". Someone was looking for him, which meant if Ryan went ahead and killed him there'd be unnecessary drama. Which he was normally fine with, but not right now. 

Ryan tucked the gun into his back pocket and poured a second cup of coffee to bring to the living room. He moved a pair of glasses and sat on his coffee table, making eye contact with Edgar. His cat finally got a clue and hopped off the kid, who snorted and rolled over. Ryan waited, watching as he slowly woke up, blinking his eyes groggily before focusing on Ryan.

He screamed like a horror movie actress and leapt over the back of the couch.

Ryan rolled his eyes. Maybe wearing the infamous Vagabond mask wasn't the way to begin introductions, but he wouldn't deal with this without it. He pushed up the bottom of his mask, so he could speak clearly. "Now, is that the best way to deal with this problem?" he almost purred. It was the little things that counted, and his reputation of being a smooth talker had to be upheld, even if the kid was about to die. "Just come out before you make this worse for yourself.”

Slowly, the kid's head peeked over the back of the couch. He stared at Ryan's mask, then scanned the floor by his feet, then back to Ryan. He flashed an awkward grin. "So, uh, hi. How's it goin?" 

Ryan raised an eyebrow behind his mask. He liked it when his prey played along. "Not too shabby, you know, " Ryan shrugged, switching to a genial tone. "There's some weird kid who broke into my house that I've got to deal with, but otherwise things are good." He held up the other mug of coffee. "Want a drink?"

"Ah shit, man," the kid gave him a worried look. Either that or he was constipated. Or maybe he just couldn’t see, he was squinting like crazy. "Is it poisoned?"

"Well, not yet," Ryan snipped. "I can't promise that won't change before we're done here. Depends on how this conversation goes." He smiled his creepy smile, which he knew was very effective with the mask covering most of his face.

“Oh, fuck my ass.” The kid moaned as he straightened and walked around his couch. 

“Not on the first date,” Ryan assured him, and smiled when the kid snorted a laugh. He appreciated good humor, especially in the face on near-certain death. No nervous chuckles from this kid, no obvious trying to play along to save his life. Proper banter.

Ryan offered the glasses first, which the kid seemed relieved about, and handed him the second cup. He sat his ass on the arm of the couch, which Ryan normally would have protested if not for the fact that the kid wouldn’t be staying there long.

“So, if you’re not gonna anally pleasure me, what are you going to do to me, Mister?” The kid quirked his eyebrows at Ryan over his coffee cup, which made him scowl. Maybe this kid was a bit _too_ humorous about the situation. It wouldn’t do for the kid to think he could get away with this. 

“I’m going to do much worse unless you can come up with a damn good reason for why you’re in my house.” Ryan assured him. The kid flinched, tried to hide his discomfort by taking a sip of his coffee, and ended up making a face at it instead. If Ryan had to guess he would guess the kid preferred it with more cream and sugar, but he wasn’t feeling generous enough to offer. 

“Dude, yeah, I mean, I don’t know what you think is a good explanation is, but I totally have one.” The kid stammered, not meeting Ryan’s eyes and glancing around the room instead. “Wasn’t there a cat here, too? I thought there was a cat. Do you have a cat or did I steal one at some point last night?”

“My cat’s fine, he seemed to enjoy your company this morning.” The kid was talkative enough, so Ryan backed off of intimidation for a moment. “Do you normally steal cats before breaking into apartments and stalling over answers?”

“Yeah, that’s been known to happen before.” The young man poked at the carpet with his socked foot, a hole on one of the toes. “The stealing cats thing, I mean. I’m normally better at making up shit to save my life but you’ve kinda…” he chuckled nervously, “...you’ve kinda thrown me off my game. I don’t think you’re the kinda guy who believes bullshit anyway.”

“No, especially since you’ve just told me you’re intending to lie to me.” The kid rolled his eyes, as if to say, ‘well, obviously’ and took another tiny sip of coffee. “I think you better stick to the truth if you want to live through this.” Ryan advised. 

“Well, look, the thing is…” the kid took a deep breath before speaking in a rush. “I thought this was a safehouse that my crew had set up. You have the same fucking security system!” His voice was getting louder as he got more worked up, gesturing with his hands. “So when my code didn’t work I just disabled the damn thing and re-armed it. I don’t fucking know...it was late, cops were all over the fucking place, it's not like shit’s never been fucked up like this before, I thought Gavin fucked it up and whatever…” the kid trailed off and met Ryan’s eye. “So, I guess I fucked up, ya know? I don’t have a good excuse, I just have an explanation or whatever.”

“I almost wish you had a better excuse,” Ryan sighed. He considered his company. He was young-looking, but wiry enough to be older than he looked. Collection of scars here and there across his body like constellations. Skinny and in need of meals other than ramen. He was a part of a crew, probably one of the any number of local gangs, and was so used to shit going wrong that he didn’t even seem phased by it. He was taking it all in stride. “Breaking into my house is possibly the biggest fuckup imaginable, and you’re telling me it all happened on _accident_?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” the kid nodded. “I mean, you know, if I was here on purpose to like, _kill you_ or something, and you caught me, I’d have a better excuse. Like, I’d pretend this was a porno or something, to throw you off.”

Ryan gave him a perplexed look. “Yeah, that would have done it. I wouldn’t have seen that coming.” Ryan finished his coffee and held out his hand for the kid’s, who handed it over almost full. Ryan returned to the kitchen, unsurprised when the kid followed him.

Edgar stood by his food bowl, silently demanding his breakfast. Ryan ignored him in favor of putting his mug in the sink, which caused Edgar to yowl at him. Behind him, the kid paused, looking at the cat and then the table, where his possessions waited. “Does this guy have some food somewhere or what? Clearly he’s starving to death.”

“Don’t listen to his lies.” Ryan shook his head at Edgar’s behavior. “Shelf over the stove.” Ryan stood back and watched while the kid dumped a scoop of dry food into the dish, Edgar twining around his legs in thanks. In the awkward silence that followed, the burner phone on the table buzzed annoyingly, causing the kid to twitch. 

“You sound very popular today.” Ryan nodded towards the phone.

“Yeah, pretty sure the boss is gonna tear me a new one. I mean, if you don’t tear something first.” The kid looked pretty glum even as he scratched the base of Edgar’s tail, and Ryan found himself considering his choices. It would be best if he just killed the kid - that was the reason he made no attempt to learn the kid’s name, that and he didn't give a shit - so he wouldn’t go back to his crew with information, like Ryan’s location, cat food brand, and coffee preferences. 

But the kid had spunk, he had attitude in the face of death, which Ryan appreciated, in small doses. Clearly nervous, but being a smart-mouth anyway. He also had undeniable skills at breaking and entering, probably had some experience with criminal activity given the gun and the money. Like every criminal in the city, he had the same general acceptance of inevitable death because of a fuckup. It would be a waste to off him.

Plus, he had a nice ass, which Ryan had full view of with the kid bent over to pet his cat. Not everyone looks good in their boxers in a kitchen this early in the morning, but the kid was pulling it off.

 _It's not about going soft_ , Ryan thought to himself, _not exactly_. It was a change in priorities, about giving a shit about some things and not others. It wasn't taking things easy, it was doing something that would get the best outcome. He wasn't dead yet.

Walking over to the table, Ryan picked up the hoodie and jeans and threw them to the kid. “Get dressed. If you wanna keep living I suggest you do what I say.” He waited while the kid put on his clothes, the hoodie swallowing his form. When the kid was dressed, Ryan led him to the door, mildly amused to see a pair of unfamiliar checkered shoes next to his boots that he missed earlier. 

“Here’s the deal,” he informed the boy as he joined Ryan in the garage, eyeing the inconspicuous sedan parked in the second spot. “You can probably tell, I’ve put a lot of time and money into this house, and keeping it off the radar from people like you.” He narrowed his eyes at the kid, who swallowed and nodded. Ryan took a moment to reset his security measures - for all he knew the kid had a tracker up his ass, and friends coming to get him. But he wasn’t about to search - he’d rather give the kid the benefit of the doubt.

“So you’re gonna forget this location, and that this little interaction ever happened, and make up one of your amazing excuses to your boss about where you were all night. If you ever come back, or if you say a peep about anything, I'll string you up from the skyscrapers by your balls.” The kid had the gall to half-laugh, but got in the car nonetheless. When Ryan joined him in the driver’s seat, the boy had pulled his hood all the way up and over, so it was covering his eyes, and was slumped in his seat. Ryan took a risk and slipped the mask all the way off, because it got too much attention when he was driving around, even in this town.

Ryan drove around aimlessly through endless neighborhoods. Suburbs became city blocks became suburbs again. Somewhere on an overpass he chucked the burner phone. The kid was growing more and more fidgety, tapping his fingers against his leg. At one point he reached out to blindly paw at the radio. Ryan slapped his hand away. He looked like he was desperately itching for his smartphone.

Eventually, the kid spoke. “So here's what I came up with, for an excuse. I hijacked a Thai delivery driver, but he made me drop him off at his house, where his crazy mother-in-law was waiting, and she forced me to trim her hair while watching soap operas. And I barely escaped with my life.”

Ryan gave him an incredulous look. “ _That's_ what you came up with for an excuse? Seriously? And you think your boss is gonna buy that?” The kid shrugged, and Ryan couldn’t stop letting out a bark of laugh, imagining the ‘I-don’t-know’ face he was pulling under his hood. “So is it normal enough that weird shit happens to you and he doesn’t question it anymore, or does he just not give a shit?”

“Nah, the boss gives a shit, but as long as I come back not fucked up he’ll just not bother figuring out where I went.” The kid shrugged. “I kinda just bullshit my way through life so he’s kinda used to it.”

“So what do you do for your boss, besides making use of your enviable way of talking yourself out of problems?” Ryan knew he really shouldn’t give a shit, but this kid was something else. Most of the gang members in the city laughed in the face of death, but this kid laughed in Ryan’s face, which was worse, and he seemed pretty okay with that.

But then, here was Ryan, playing chauffer, rather than just offing the kid and dumping his body somewhere convenient. He didn’t blame the kid for taking it easy because he was being non-threatening, but he hadn’t been kidding about not wanting to get attention and having his location known. This wasn’t retirement, because that was ludicrous, but it was him wanting to having a nice hideout with a cat that he spent a lot of time in. Priorities.

“I shoot shit.” The kid sighed and slumped in his seat. He didn’t sound particularly happy about his job, but maybe he was just modest. Or downplaying his skills. “It's pretty cool, most of the time, except when shit like this happens.”

“Yeah, you fucked up pretty good. You know I would have killed you if you hadn't talked yourself out of it.” Ryan admitted. He ignored it when the kid did a congratulatory arm pump, and pulled over next to a gas station.

“Okay, get out of here. Go dazzle your boss with your bullshit story.” Ryan grabbed the kid's wrist before he left, stopping him. Wisely, the kid kept his hood up and face away. “I need your word, that you never try to find my house again. And you better fucking hope you don't meet me again, because I won't tolerate your nonsense next time.” He squeezed, hard enough to get the point across.

“Yeah, I got that,” the kid said quietly. “I won't ever come back. And, um, yeah, thanks for not killing me, I really kinda appreciate it.” He twisted and flipped his wrist in Ryan's hand so he could squeeze Ryan's back. “Name’s Ray, by the way, in case you ever need a smart-ass to shoot stuff for you.”

“I think I can do without.” Ryan said honestly. “Nothing personal, but I can handle most of that myself. And you'll probably have a longer life expectancy.” Ray - if that was even really his name - turned his head and flashed Ryan a grin from under his hood. Ryan scowled, uncomfortable with how close the kid was to seeing his face and how at ease he was. This kid had a beyond-normal death wish.

“Get the fuck out of my car,” he snarled, pushing the kid’s - Ray’s - wrist away. The boy half-fell out of the car to get away from Ryan. He pulled away, unable to stop himself watching his rearview as the kid waved goodbye like a maniac.

“Dumbass,” Ryan sighed. _Yep_ , he thought miserably, _me and that kid are dumbasses_. Neither of them were acting with the best self-intentions. He should have killed the kid, and the kid should be put down before something worse happened to him. But it was too late now, what happened had happened. It would be better for both of them if they never saw each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edgar's the real star of this story. I think we all know a cat like him.


	2. A Guide to Bullshitting and How to Apply It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos/lovely comments. Keep being encouraging and hopefully I've have a chapter a week *crosses fingers*

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit fuck fuck shit fuck fuck fuck shit.” Ray hissed under his breath. He couldn't see shit, and the keypad he was messing with was acting like a bitch. He thought it'd be easier to break in through the back, that maybe the deck door would have an easy alarm pad to hack, but nope! Wires tangled around his fingers, and as he jerked away to free them, the alarm started blaring.

“God dammit,” Ray moaned and sunk to the floor. This was it. His death was coming, he could hear him down the hall, so there was really nothing left to do but sit there and accept it.

It had been a nice life, going on heists and playing video games, fucking up shit and trying to forget where the Vagabond lived. And that sorta worked, but then shit happened - not like the shit that happened that lead him to the house in the first place, new shit - and he made a split second decision and now he was fucked. Totally completely screwed. And also dead.

But it was worth it to see the God Damn Vagabond himself stumble into the room wearing red plaid pajama pants, his mask, and nothing else.

God damn. He had arms for days.

Ray waved miserably from the floor as the Vagabond stared at him. Ray’s brain, which always pointed out stupid details at all times, was running overdrive with fear and dread, and helpfully pointed out Edgar the cat had accompanied his owner to confront the break in. Also, solid definition on those arms.

The Vagabond had a wicked-looking knife held loosely in his hand, but it wasn't threatening Ray yet. Ray couldn't see his expression, obviously, but was hoping for more of a ‘why is this shit back’ look and not ‘you're fucking cat food in two seconds’ look. The masked man jerked his gaze from Ray to the alarm pad, unignorably messed with, and stepped over to it to punch the code.

Ray was now staring straight up at him, and boy, did he love the view.

The alarms finally died, and the Vagabond turned his attention back down to Ray. It was hard to tell, because of the mask, but Ray was pretty sure he was glaring like a motherfucker.

Ray beamed up at him. “So you have a new alarm system, huh?” The Vagabond had that knife inches from his face before his brain caught up with his mouth. Yeah, maybe not the smartest thing he could have done.

But seriously, what else was there to say?

Before the Vagabond could answer, or Ray could say something else dumb, the phone rang, bright and annoying. Not taking his eyes off Ray, the Vagabond lifted the lower half of the mask and leaned over to grab the phone from the nearby table.

“Haywood, 636 42nd Avenue, Los Santos. Security code,” he hesitated for half a second, “Prince Oinkkins the First.” Ray had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop the hysterical giggles. The knife was still inches from his face, and he was pretty sure the only thing keeping him alive was the person on the other end of the line.

“No, false alarm. My cat needed to be let out, and I, uh, forgot to disarm it.” The Vagabond’s voice, rather than the knee-melting baritone it usually was, sounded different, Ray noticed with interest. Higher pitched, but tired sounding. _He's disguising his voice_ , Ray realized. That was fucking clever. On top of the totally mundane decor and domesticity he witnessed during his first visit, this left Ray more blown away at how much effort the Vagabond put into his double life as a suburban average dad guy.

It was funny shit, but at the same time really really terrifying.

“No, no, loo- no, I know. Yeah.” Vagabond sounded annoyed now - not murderous annoyed, yet, but average ticked off. “I understand, but I have the system set up the way I like it.” He glanced down at Ray, who rolled his eyes sympathetically. Customer service was a bitch sometimes.

“Yes. No. That’s allright. Okay. Uh-huh. Yep. Goodbye.” The Vagabond hung up, with an annoyed sigh. Ray almost felt bad for him, except he remembered that he was in serious danger of getting fucked up. Or dying.

“So look, I totally have an excuse for being here-” Ray tried to explain quickly, but the Vagabond’s free hand snapped out, grabbing the front of Ray’s hoodie and hauling him up. Ray was slammed against the wall, literally being held up off the floor, with knuckles right into his windpipe and a knife pointy end up under his chin. His breath squeaked out and he grabbed at the wrist holding him, but those muscley arms were not letting him go.

“You fucking piece of shit.” The Vagabond’s face was right up against his, and holy shit his eyes were _blue_. “I told you to stay away from here.” The baritone was back, rumbling right in Ray's face, but he couldn't really enjoy it as much as he could be.

“I let you walk away, _you gave me your word_ that you wouldn't come back. Why are you here? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ray made a Gavin-esque squawk in reply, and the Vagabond abruptly unhanded him to roughly pat him down, looking for his phone or something. Ray rubbed his throat, swallowing. A streak of blood glinted from his fingers when he pulled away. He was scared, balls-dropping scared, but he wasn't dead yet, which meant he might still live.

The Vagabond came up empty - Ray had stashed his phone and rifle a few streets away, cause they were his and he wanted to be buried with them- and got right back in Ray's face, free hand pushing his shoulder to the wall. The blade of the knife rested flat against his neck, he could feel it against his pulse. The Vagabond hadn't pulled his mask down, and Ray was mildly fascinated by the blonde stubble he could see. Unexpected. He was breathing heavily in Ray’s face, and Ray had know he would be mad about Ray breaking into his house, but not this mad.

“If I let you talk, you'll just worm your way out of this again, won’t you?” The Vagabond snapped, covering Ray's mouth with his free hand and pressing, putting uncomfortable pressure on his mouth. “So just nod or shake your head for me, and we'll see if I like your answers.” His voice dropped again, and Ray wondered if he knew, if he was doing it on purpose, and if he knew Ray was getting off on the sound of his voice, the pressure and the fear.

He was a guy with some seriously messed up preferences, and the Vagabond was hitting every one of them. But at least he wasn't actually hitting Ray. Yet.

“Did you tell anyone about this place? _Anyone_?” Ray was shaking his head no before the Vagabond even finished his sentence. No one in the crew would believe him, and he knew Geoff would fucking murder him if he found out. He hated when Ray did stupid shit that got his ass in trouble - never mind that doing stupid shit was essentially their job.

“You didn't break in again for no reason, did you? For shits and giggles?” Ray shook his head mournfully. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it, but just hadn't had time.

“How did you find this place again? Is this place close to one of your hideouts?” Ray nodded now. Their old safehouse was actually a few blocks away, and if he had his mouth free he'd tell the Vagabond that the location had been compromised, so there was no fear of anyone else finding this place. But he probably wasn't going to get that chance.

“Are you even scared of me?” Ray had been staring at the Vagabond’s neck, trying to avoid eye contact that could piss him off, but now he looked up in surprise. The fuck kind of question was that? He didn't know how to answer that. Half the time he was terrified out of his mind about this guy, but then he went and did things like drive Ray around and wear plaid pajama pants. He knew he should be more scared all the time, but that was kinda hard. Like his dick.

The Vagabond was still in his face, still glaring, so Ray shrugged, which apparently wasn’t one of the accepted answers because the hand on his mouth tightened. His hands were still free, pressed against the wall, but he didn't dream of being able to fight the Vagabond off. Ray felt something rub his ankle, and looked down past the knife to see Edgar was twining around his legs. At least the cat was happy to see him.

“You weren’t planning on getting out of this alive, were you? Why else would you come back?” The Vagabond was quiet, and his face was really close to Ray's face, and again Ray didn’t know how to answer. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true. He’d just prefer not to.

A flash of light through the window drew their attention and stopped the awkward one-sided conversation. Then the crunch of tires on the drive reached their ears. Ray felt his stomach drop out. How the hell did they find him? The Vagabond, still covering his mouth, pulled Ray through the dining room and to the entryway and peered through the eye-hole of the front door. “You brought the cops here,” he said, dangerously quietly. Ray shook his head frantically, finally reaching up to pull the hand away. 

“They’re not cops,” he said hoarsely. “They’re another crew, they’re gonna fuck me up if you don’t.” The Vagabond was quiet, and Ray could practically hear him thinking. “You _don't_ want these fucks to find this place.” It was a gamble to remind the Vagabond that he didn't like unexpected guests, but it worked. He grabbed Ray again by the sweater and dragged him to the living room. Ray was dumped on the couch that he had previously spent the night in. 

“You stay quiet and pretend you belong here. You better hope they don’t give me a good reason to hand you over.” the Vagabond grabbed a ragged college sweater from the back of the couch to unfortunately cover up those abs. Ray gave him a thumbs up and slumped back onto the couch as he left. Edgar took the opportunity to reclaim his lap, so he obligingly began scratching behind his ears. 

He wondered if he should try to bolt. But there was no fucking way he was getting past those two assholes out there, much less escaping the Vagabond. Besides, Edgar was comfortable, and he couldn't dislodge him.

He reached over to grab the remote and turned on the tv, because if he was supposed to be pretending to belong, then he should watch TV. The eleven o’clock news was just starting, and they were already talking about his crew and the heist they pulled. The burning building was beautiful.

(The Vagabond was in bed before eleven? What the fuck was wrong with him?)

He heard the Vagabond open the door, having a muted conversation with the fake cops. He hoped that, no matter how much the Vagabond might hate him, he’d have the decency to kill him himself, instead of letting those people have their way with him. He was pretty sure the Vagabond would be nicer about it.

It wasn’t that he was ready to die, because there were always more achievements to earn and money to steal, but he knew his life was pretty much guaranteed to be short, so why not be prepared? And somehow the Vagabond had figured that out, which made Ray like him more, reputation for destruction and general murderyness aside.

All told, this wasn’t the weirdest night he’d ever experienced, but it was close. And he still might not make it out of it alive. 

Edgar rubbed his face over Ray's knuckles as he listened to car doors slamming and engine starting. He held his breath, turned down the volume on the TV, and heard them pull away. Leaning back into the couch, he could barely see through a crack in the window curtains, and could see the fake cop car pull away and move to the next driveway.

He heard the Vagabond behind him step into the living room, swear quietly, and move back to the kitchen. Ray choked down a laugh. Sounds like someone forgot to put his mask back on.

Ray was watching this time when the Vagabond stepped back into the room, stuffing a lot of blond hair into the mask. Ray could have spent the rest of his life happy without knowing the Vagabond had long hair. What was up with this guy?

Rather than manhandle Ray again, the Vagabond sunk into the couch with a sigh. Edgar abandoned Ray's lap to perch on his owner's, leaving Ray empty-handed and awkward. It was quiet, except for the talking head telling the world that the legendary Fake AH Crew was behind this rampage of destruction. That was only technically true - mostly it had been Gavin and Michael breaking stuff.

“I recognized those two,” the Vagabond finally spoke. “I had a job with their gang. They're assholes. Better to not mess with them.” Ray nodded in agreement. Edgar switched laps again.

“So what am I supposed to do with you now?” the Vagabond wondered out loud. “If I let you go you'll wander back in again, won't you? You're worse than him.” The other man nodded at Edgar, who was shamelessly encouraging Ray to rub his belly.

“Maybe if you closed the cat door you can stop pests from wandering in.” Ray muttered. That was pushing it, but he didn't care anymore. There was only so much BS he could spew. Either this guy was gonna kill him or not, his smart mouth wouldn't change shit.

The Vagabond chuckled, and Ray remembered how much he liked hearing that. “There's probably not a door in the world that would keep you out.” The Vagabond reached over to join Ray giving Edgar belly rubs. Their hands looked weird together, lit up by the TV screen. His were bigger, and covered in old scars.

“I'm not looking to mess up your life by showing up again.” Ray admitted honestly. “You got your space here, and clearly you dig what you're doing-” exactly _what_ that was was a mystery to the criminal underground, because the Vagabond hadn't been active in months- “and that's not my thing, but whatever. You wanna wear fucking dad sweaters and chill with your cat, that's your business. I'm not gonna fuck it up for you, I'm not an asshole.” Well, he was an asshole, just not that much.

Edgar was purring like a motherfucker, enjoying all the attention. The Vagabond’s shoulder rested against his as he rubbed his cat’s back. “I’m not _just_ chilling with my cat,” he said quietly, “but what I’m doing is none of your business.”

“Probably investing your mortgage and being smart about your taxes or some adult shit.” That made the Vagabond laugh, an actual good laugh, and Ray was thrilled to hear it. Stupid nonsense jokes worked sometimes.

“Who’s Prince Oinkkins?” His mouth again didn't wait for his brain to begin speaking, and he mentally kicked himself. But seriously, it was a valid question.

“He was a pet pig I had growing up.” The Vagabond scratched Edgar's forehead. “My father let me name him and raise him. We ended up eating him for Easter.” 

“Oh my god,” Ray said quietly. That was dark.

“Yeah, tried to teach me a mortality lesson or something. But I kept trying. I kept naming them and tried to keep them alive longer than a year, but it never worked.” He sighed. “Kinda tells you something about me, huh?”

“Yeah, you were unimaginable about naming shit.” Ray joked. There just wasn't a good answer for that.

The Vagabond stood, taking Edgar reluctantly from Ray's lap. “I suppose you're right. And I suppose I better kill you, or you'll just find a way to come back again.” It didn't look like he was glaring at Ray anymore, but it was hard to tell. “Driving you away from here didn't work.”

“You don't know killing me will work. I'm like the cat that came back,” Ray said with a grin. The Vagabond was staring at him, and he was getting nervous again. “You should try blowing me up or sending me to the moon or something.”

The Vagabond shook his head. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” He gestured for Ray to follow him, draping Edgar over his shoulder as he went. Ray got up and followed him to the dining room. They walked over to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. The one he broke into earlier. He had just enough morals to feel a little bad about it.

“You can cut through my backyard and the one to the right there.” The Vagabond pointed to the house kitty-corner from his. Ray could see the top of a playset over the solid wood fence. “Their dog barks at everything that moves, so they won't think to check.”

“So that's it, you're gonna let me get out of here?” Ray tilted his head to try to meet those big blue eyes under the mask. “No threats of dismemberment?” That seemed unusual, especially after seeing how mad he had been. He was probably going to follow Ray home and decapitate him in front of Geoff or something.

“I just want you to do something for me.” Edgar hopped off his shoulder when the Vagabond turned to lean against the door frame. “You need to stop going into every situation thinking you're gonna die.”

“Huh?” Where the fuck did that come from? He thought the Vagabond understood his whole “who lives who dies who cares” thing.

“You just gave up when I came out to find you, you didn't try to fight or anything!” The Vagabond’s voice was getting agitated again. “You barely tried to talk your way out of it.” 

“Well you didn't give me a chance!” Ray tried to butt in, but the Vagabond kept talking.

“I know that every criminal in this city has a death wish, but you're on a whole other level. You keep breaking into my house, for fucks sake. It's like you don't even care.”

“I don't!” Ray snapped, mad that this asshole couldn’t figure it out. “Why should I care? I came back knowing you were probably going to kill me, there's no way I can fight you off. I'm a fucking criminal, I could die getting milk at the grocery store, I probably deserve to get killed. Why the fuck do _you_ care?”

“Because if you have nothing to live for, if you don't have a life to fight to keep, then you're worse than those guys who were after you.” The Vagabond grabbed his shoulders again, but not hard. “I've _seen_ what happens when you stop giving a shit, I _know_ what that's like. It's hell, Ray. Absolute fucking hell. And you don't deserve that.”

Ray could feel those intense eyes on him, but he couldn't look up. “Sounds like high school,” he tried to joke, but it fell flat. The Vagabond was right. He couldn't know about Ray's crew, how much they meant to him, how he was _trying_ not to get killed for them. But it was hard to shake old habits. It was hard to lose the shadow of death when you'd been living under it your whole life.

He knew the Vagabond understood that. They both knew what it was like. Even if Ray’d rather rip his tongue out than say it.

The Vagabond had no response, so eventually Ray spoke up again. “I’m not trying to get myself killed, or anything, it just happens. I end up in shit and I just try to talk my way out of it, and it mostly works but I didn’t think it’d work on you. Twice. I mean, you kinda have a reputation, and threatened me last time with bodily harm, so I figured it was a done deal. And, you know, it's like, if shit gets fucked, and I'm ready to die, then I won't be disappointed.” He sighed. “So, yeah, there’s my bullshit excuse, I know how much you love those. But for you, I'll try to tone down the YOLO, okay? Sound good?”

“Yeah, I'll buy that.” He sounded sarcastic, but the Vagabond seemed satisfied as he shoved Ray towards the door, punching the alarm code for him. “Just stop getting yourself into situations where you get killed for being stupid, that’s all I ask. You’re too smart for that shit.”

“Aww, you’re too sweet,” Ray grinned as he opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. The air had grown frigid while he was hiding in the house, and he pulled his hood up with a shiver. He still had to get back to get his shit, and text Geoff to let him know that he was still alive.

And then go home and get himself into more stupid shit, because that was his life. And it wouldn't change until he died for real. But he could add “messing with Vagabond” to his list of things to live for. Because when he wasn’t threatening Ray with a knife, it was fun hanging out with him.

“Get the fuck out of here.” The Vagabond groaned, giving him another shove. “If you break into my house again I’m gonna give you another grown-up lecture. Or I’ll make you do my taxes or something.”

“God, the fucking horror,” Ray muttered as he bounced down the steps. When he reached the back fence he pulled himself up and straddled it. Before he jumped to the other side, he gave another cheeky wave to the Vagabond.

The asshole actually waved back. Ray counted that as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my cats Lily and Spot, and my landlady's cat Zoe, for donating part of their personalities to Edgar. I'm sure they'd be honored.


	3. Emergency Responses For When The Shit Hits The Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads Up! There's blood in this chapter. Talk of violence. Tiiiiiny bit of drug use but it kinda doesn't count. Just be aware

Edgar began yowling as soon as Ryan walked in from the garage. “Enough, I get it, you’re starving. Keep your tail on,” he muttered. He reset his alarm while balancing the groceries on one arm, and almost fell over when Edgar began twisting around his ankles, still crying. “God, what's your problem?” This was different, Edgar had never acted like this before. Something was wrong, or else he was just going mental.

Edgar ran ahead, still howling up a storm, but ducked into the dining room instead of the kitchen. Ryan stuck his head in. The room was as bare and unused as it usually was, but the glass door, which normally looked into his backyard, instead showed him a body on the back deck.

A body wearing a purple hoodie that was covered in blood.

“Oh shit,” Ryan swore, dumping the groceries on the table. He almost fell over one of the chairs to get to the door, which Edgar was now standing by, still meowing. With shaking fingers he punched the code again, unable to take his eyes off Ray. That was a lot of blood.

“Ray?” he gasped when he opened the door. There was no response, but the bloody form twitched, so Ryan crouched down next to him, scanning his backyard. He didn’t see anything out of place that indicated someone was using Ray as bait, and a quick glance at the roof showed nothing suspicious either.

Gently, he touched Ray’s face. Under the purple hood, his face was white except for foul bruising around his chin, and his eyes were screwed shut. Ray was leaning up against the wood railing of his deck, and blood was seeping from his left shoulder. When Ryan leaned over to see where the injury was, his gut seized. There was a knife sticking out of Ray’s arm.

It looked like Ray had bunched his hoodie around the entry wound, and was using the slats in the fence to support himself without removing the knife. Ryan had to give him props for not taking out the knife and hurting himself more, but he was currently consumed with worry.

“Ray? Talk to me buddy, say something.” This was shock, or blood loss, and that was not good.

“I didn’t break in,” Ray whispered. He was shivering under Ryan’s fingers, and his lips were trembling. “I didn’t break into your house again.”

“Yeah, good for you buddy. You get an invitation this time, alright? I need to get you in the house, okay?” Ray nodded and carefully pulled away from the deck. His right hand was wrapped in his sleeve, and he was using it to staunch the blood and hold the knife still. Ryan considered if he could carry Ray or support him though the house, but Ray leaned heavily against his chest, eyes closed, so he did the easiest thing and scooped the younger man up. Edgar watched with a pleased expression as Ryan reset the alarm one handed again and carried Ray to the bathroom. Blood dripped onto the carpet but he didn't care.

Christ, Ray only weighed five pounds. There was nothing to him. Bones and fabric and blood.

It'd been weeks since he last saw the kid, but every morning he scanned the city's in-custody list, just to make sure Ray was out. He never checked the obits, because people like them were never featured. It wasn't worry or concern, it was just looking out for this interesting character in his life. For good or worse, Ray had certainly livened things up and made him reconsider his home security.

And he kinda hated how much he liked it.

The bathroom was thankfully tiled in tacky linoleum, because cleaning blood out of grout was a bitch. He laid Ray carefully down in the bathtub before turning to the sink cabinets. If he were anyone else, he'd only have a basic first aid kit in a cute little white box. Since he was the Vagabond, he had an emergency room's worth of supplies.

He crouched next to Ray, armed with his scissors. “I'm going to have to cut your hoodie off, okay buddy?” Ray nodded, eyes still closed. Was he in pain? Ryan paused to grab a bottle and shook out two pills. “I've got a heavy duty painkiller here, you want to take it?” Ray nodded and held out his hand. Before Ryan could offer some water, Ray dry-swallowed the pills like they were nothing.

His eyes were still closed. He didn't even look at the pills before taking them. Was that trust, or him not giving a shit?

Ryan unzipped the hoodie, helping Ray wiggle his right hand free while Ryan held the blood-damp sleeve to the wound on his shoulder. Ray replaced his hand as Ryan carefully cut away the hoodie and the black tank top underneath.

“You owe me a hoodie,” Ray muttered as Ryan pulled the pieces away and threw them in the sink. Ryan nodded and considered his next step. The pieces of sweater covering the wound were saturated with blood, and god knew how much fabric and dirt was already in the cut. Ryan grabbed handfuls of gauze and placed his hand on top of Ray’s.

“Ray, when did you get sliced? How long were you waiting for me?” Ray shook his head.

“About an hour, I think. I don’t know. I’m surprised you weren’t home.” Ryan nodded, even though Ray still had his eyes closed. He felt guilty about not being there, but how the hell was he supposed to know an emergency was happening? “I was checking our old base, a few blocks from here. We don’t use it anymore, but I thought I left some shit there, and there were these guys, and-” Ray shuddered, hunching over, and Ryan couldn’t stop himself from stroking his hand. He still felt cold and clammy. How much blood did he really lose and how much was shock?

“You killed them, didn’t you?” Ray nodded, and Ryan felt a small rush of pride. “Then you’re good. I won't have to make you suffer. I’m gonna start putting gauze on, I might need your help.” Ray nodded his assent, and Ryan scrutinized his screwed up face. “This’ll be easier if you look. Do you not like seeing blood or what?”

Ray laughed sharply. “You’re not wearing your fucking mask, are you?” Ryan froze when he realized Ray was right. He’d been running around doing chores as Ryan, not the Vagabond. His mask had been off this whole time and he hadn’t noticed. “I’m not gonna fucking look, you’ll just stab me too. I came here not to die, aren’t you fucking happy? Thought that's what you wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute.” Ryan stood with a groan as his joints complained. God he was getting old. And forgetful. But seriously, he never wore his mask in the house, except when he had Ray’s company. How was he supposed to know the kid would be bleeding out on his deck?

Ryan returned with his mask back where it should be, with the bottom pushed up so he could talk. “Ok, it’s safe to look now.” He smiled when Ray peeked through his eyelid, then opened both eyes to smile back at him. 

“I can’t believe you fucking forgot,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well, I had a lot on my mind. Some kid was dying on my porch,” Ryan joked back as he pulled on some latex gloves. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he gently pulled Ray’s arm closer. He hoped by this time the wounds had clotted. It looked like some jackass had stabbed Ray near the top of his shoulder and dragged the knife down halfway to his elbow, and left it there. Rude. But it was better to keep it there, to hold back the bleeding. Pulling it out improperly would be bad.

Ray braced the knife with his free hand while Ryan carefully replaced the ratty fabric with clean white gauze. The slice looked like it was clotted and not bleeding badly, so Ryan gently cleaned it with rubbing alcohol as he went. He'd do a better job when he stitched them up.

“Now here’s the fun part,” Ryan muttered as he considered the knife. The trick would be to pull out the knife and cover it immediately with the gauze, and hope removing it didn’t cause it to rupture. He was sure professionals in a hospital would use a different method, but he didn’t have those options.

“I'll yank it out if that helps,” Ray eyed his arm critically. He didn't seem to be in pain anymore, which was good, because this would probably hurt the most. 

Ryan nodded and gathered more gauze as Ray got ready. Ray got a firm grip on the knife, took a deep breath, and pulled it out as Ryan pressed the fabric down. Ray gasped in agony as Ryan kept up that pressure, willing the wound to not bleed. Ray held his bandage in place as Ryan wrapped it in tape, leaving his arm looking like a little kid's Halloween version of a mummy.

“Okay, anything else need to get fixed?” Ryan asked as he turned to clean up. He hadn't seen any more wounds, besides the bruises. There were more clustered around his ribcage and other arm, but they didn't look serious. His arms were stick skinny and bony, which made the bruises stand out more.

“Nah, nothing I can't deal with.” Ray's eyes were unfocused and he was blinking over and over, so Ryan guessed the drugs were working. Fucking lightweight. He wobbled as Ryan guided him out of the tub and down the hall to the master bedroom.

“Fuck. I was hoping you had a creepy sex dungeon in here,” Ray muttered, and laughed at Ryan's groan. He collapsed onto the bed, rubbing his face on Ryan's pillow with a moan.

Ryan frowned at him. “Are you a druggie or something?” he asked, worried that he'd given Ray drugs only to further an addiction. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Ray shook his head no.

“I'm the opposite of a fucking druggie.” he said quietly. “They make me lightheaded and feel like shit, I feel like I'm gonna faint. I don't-” Ray took a deep breath and went quiet when Ryan covered him with a quilt. He gently moved Ray’s wounded arm so it was lying over his head.

“Just take it easy, okay? We gotta stitch you up but rest a bit first, okay?” Ray had no response besides closing his eyes against the pillow, so Ryan left the room, taking the gun he kept on the bedside table as he went. 

It wasn't like he thought Ray would come after him, even if he wasn't hurt and drugged. The kid hadn't done anything threatening so far, he even kept his house secret under pressure. It was just habit.

Back in the bathroom, Ryan wiped away the blood in the bathtub. The knife he washed carefully in the sink, looking it over with a professional eye. It was small blade, like he suspected and hoped it was. Not like the larger ones Ryan usually preferred. He set it aside - Ray might like a souvenir. 

He hosed off the back deck - thankfully there was minimal spillage there. It was also lucky Ray had showed up on a school day, otherwise the twins who played in the yard behind his would have had the fright of their lives.

The bloody pieces of Ray's hoodie he bagged with some crucial paper products and locked in his safe. He had a burn pit far out of town, he'd deal with them later. 

One of the positives of being a paranoid bastard was always having ways to dispose of evidence. If Ray unfortunately bled out, he'd have a way to get rid of him too.

But that wouldn't happen, because Ryan was damn good at first aid (he'd had lots of practice on himself and farm animals growing up). And Ray had come to him, not his crew or his own doctor, not to die but to live. Ryan felt a foolish glow of warmth. It was too much to assume that Ray was following his advice, but he could hope.

When Ryan stuck his head in his room to check Ray, he saw Edgar had taken advantage of his weakness and was curled up next to him, purring. Asshole. The boy had been peacefully napping, but when Ryan went to close the door, the kid abruptly jolted up and started grabbing at his pants pockets. He pulled out a buzzing phone, looked at it, and looked at Ryan with a worried face. “It's my boss,” he admitted.

Ryan considered it. The phone was bright pink and if Ryan had to guess, he'd assume it was Ray's personal phone. He couldn't destroy it, that's be a dick move, even for him. If he said no to the call, his boss would keep calling, and try to track it. Which was the last thing he wanted.

“Go ahead and get that,” Ryan nodded at the phone. “Don't mention me or what happened to you.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Ray rolled his eyes as he answered the call. Ryan sat down at the end of the bad, rubbing his hand across Edgar's back when the cat joined him.

“Hey boss,” Ray wasn't making any effort to hide his call from Ryan, which he appreciated. “Yeah. No. Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes at Ryan. “Nah, I can't, I'm trying to do a thing.” He was silent, and Ryan could faintly hear an angry voice on the other end. “A thing that's about six-two and has arms for days.” He winked exaggeratedly at Ryan. Stifling a laugh and trying to frown sternly, Ryan reached over and pinched the leg nearest him. Ray aimed a half-hearted kick back.

“Yeah, no, he's cool. Nah, don't think so. Yeah, I know. Uh huh. Okay. See ya.” Ray hung up with a sigh. “I just lied to my boss’ face, aren't you proud? I don't think the boss is gonna snoop around or try and find you, he lets us have relationship privacy and shit.”

“Well thank god,” Ryan deadpanned, “I'm glad you're not gonna introduce me to your parents.” Ray laughed as he threw his phone off to the side. He sounded much better.

“You joke, but seriously, the boss and his second act like total dads. It's not even funny.” Ray rotated his arm, wincing. “Think this is ready to get stitched?”

“You better hope it is, I don’t want you want you waiting around my house until it is.” Ryan led Ray back into the bathroom and sat him on the lip of the tub. Rubbing alcohol, needle, and professional-grade thread were lined up and waiting. He had to dig through the medicine cabinet to find the frequently-used tube of antibacterial goop.

“I gotta tell you, aside from the whole ‘getting stabbed thing’, this is pretty cool.” Ryan raised an eyebrow in question, realized Ray couldn't see that, and frowned instead. God, wearing the fucking mask in the house was a pain in the ass.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Well, I finally breached into the inner sanctum of your home,” Ray said with a cheeky grin. “I was split between Buffalo Bill's basement or my grandma's house as far as decor went. But it's surprisingly suburban.”

“Excuse me? Did you see Buffalo Bill's house? It was disgusting. You really think I'm that messy?”

“Oh, fuck, no, you're right.” Ray laughed. Ryan did too. Since when did they go from Ryan threatening his life to laughing about movie serial killers? It was like his brain decided if Ray wasn't a threat, that made him a friend or something. Ryan had too many years to believe that was true, but at the same time, it was nice to be able to joke around with someone without having to hide anything.

Most only saw the Vagabond. Fewer saw Ryan, and no one really knew either on a familiar level. Except Ray, who was pretty damn close to getting his ass invited over for homemade dinner and video games. And maybe fucking. Why not? Kid earned it.

“I can't believe you're doing this,” Ray admitted quietly as Ryan stitched his upper arm. It was slow going - peel back gauze, clean, rinse, stitch, seal, repeat. Ryan had been falling into the quiet focusing way he did when he was cleaning his guns. Ray's voice snapped him out of it.

“I thought you said you came here not to die. What'd you expect, me to kick you off my porch to fend for yourself?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ryan nodded. He didn't blame him. “Or you'd at least let me clean up before splitting. I guess I was more messed up than I thought.” Ray shrugged with his unhurt shoulder.

“That's called shock. It could kill you just as fast as a knife.” Ryan carefully and totally professionally peeked at the open stab. It wasn't seeping blood anymore, so that was a plus. “You came to me for help, which, you know, could have backfired and fucked you in the ass-” he ignored the quiet “I wish” from Ray- “but I’m willing to clean your sorry ass up this time.”

“I owe ya one.” Ray winced as Ryan carefully swabbed the wound. “This can be redeemed by either a blow job or an instance of saving your life.”

“I'll fucking hold you to that,” Ryan said with a wink. And he meant it.

It was quiet while Ryan stitched up the larger wound. Ray hissed and groaned, but it took time, and patience. This wasn't something that could get fucked up. It wouldn't be hospital-quality, but it was enough to keep him from bleeding out or losing the arm.

“Do you have your excuse for how you fucked up your shoulder yet?” Ryan asked as he finished the last stitch. His knees were killing him when he stood up from being crouched, and he guessed the wince he saw from Ray was from sitting on the bathtub ledge. Small stupid pains they would try to hide under their professional circumstances, but here it was all right.

“Um, probably some bullshit mugger who didn't know who he was fucking with. I won't mention you at all. I can bribe our crew's nurse into saying he cleaned me up.” Ray rotated his arm carefully. “Thank god this wasn't my other shoulder or I wouldn't be able to shoot.”

Ryan imagined it, Ray leveling a gun at someone with frightening accuracy, or crouching on a roof with a rifle aimed at a target. This kid was a goof who made dumb jokes to piss him off, but Ryan could easily see the killer in Ray. Something to fear and admire.

Ray followed him back to the bedroom, where Ryan loaned him a t-shirt. “You can spend the night here again if you want, or you can leave,” he offered.

“You don't mind? Are you sure?” Ray was hesitant, but Ryan was thrilled. Ray may have started as an unwelcome pest, but that was over now. Now Ryan had company who actually _got_ him, and didn't just talk about sports and the lawn.

They ended up playing video games for the rest of the afternoon. Ray kicked his ass in first person shooters, which wasn't a big surprise. Ryan ended up cooking Ray a meal - an actual meal, not just ramen, which he gave Ray grief for when he admitted it. And then more video games, where Ryan found he did decently when they switched to racing. Ray told him stories about the shit he and his crew members got into, and Ryan told him horror stories about the shitty crews he worked with before.

“Is that why you're out of the life now? Ray asked when they were on a drink break (it turned out he shared Ryan's aversion to alcohol). “Cause you can't find a decent crew to work with?”

“Who's saying I'm out of the life?” Ryan wasn't really expecting an answer, he knew the rumors. “How do they know I'm not planning something big? How do they know I'm not out doing stuff without my mask?” The mask in question was getting to be a real pain in the ass. He hated wearing it in the house. “Why can't I be a functioning human in society _and_ be a criminal on the side?”

“Probably cause the idea of the Vagabond, Suburban PTA Dad is too foreign to them.” Ray said with a chuckle. “I never saw that coming.”

“Yeah, I didn't either,” Ryan picked up his controller again, ending the conversation. The night went on, but eventually Ray's yawns got to be too much. Ryan gathered up a bundle of blankets while Ray actually did the dishes. So fucking domestic.

“Sure you don't want to share a bed?” Ray asked with a lewd wink. Ryan rolled his eyes, but he would be lying if he hadn't thought of that.

“I'll take a rain check on the save-your-life/blow-job offer.” Ryan dropped the blankets on the couch, and pulled something out of his pocket. “I’ve got something to do tomorrow morning, so I won't be here when you leave, so here's a house key, and the security code. Make sure you lock up when you go.”

Ray stared at the copper key and folded notebook paper. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyes were wide as he looked at the items Ryan dropped in his hands. “Dude, fuck, no.” He dropped the key in his lap, and the paper fluttered to the floor. “Don’t fucking do this to me, man, I don’t-”

“I don’t care what you want. _I_ want you to stop breaking into my damn house.” Ryan shoved his finger in Ray’s face, trying to drill his point into Ray’s skull. “And since you won’t leave me alone, I’m just gonna bypass your nonsense and give you a fucking key.” Ray opened his mouth to try to speak again, so Ryan covered his mouth, which worked as well as it did last time.

“Don’t give me a reason to not trust you with this.” He said sternly. “You _know_ what this means to me. So don’t fuck it up.” Ray only nodded when Ryan took his hand away, and Ryan stomped off to his room, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut that was saying this was a bad idea.

But what the hell. Ray hadn't fucked him over so far. Surely it would be okay.

Ray was still sleeping on the couch when Ryan got up before the sun, but had vanished when he got back. The key and paper were gone too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edgar is a hero. Sing his praises


	4. Proceed With Caution While Negotiating With Criminals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got some bad news...there's no Edgar in this chapter. I'm really sorry.  
> Also, because the next chapter is going to feature Shit Going Down (!!) I don't know if I'll get it out by next week. I'll try my damnedest though, and you can all feel free to harangue me or send encouragement. My tumblr is http://blasphemous-lies-and-deceit.tumblr.com/

This was some stone-cold bullshit.

Ray was hanging out - literally - in the rafters of some abandoned warehouse, the kind of place dirty criminals like him conducted shady business. And that was the plan, except _someone,_ a previous owner, no doubt, had done a grade-A shitty job taking down their security cameras. And the whole damn rest of the crew had their own heist duties, so that left Ray doing bitch duty and cleaning up the shit.

It was hot. There were flies everywhere. He was upside down.

Someone just opened the door and waltzed in.

Well, shit.

Ray craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the intruder. It wasn't one of the crew, they would have called it. Some random civilian was walking around the Fake AH Crew's new hidey-hole, and wasn't being decent enough to get close enough to shoot. Asshole.

Ray tried to swing his ass back onto the rafter he was hanging from, but his shoe caught and scraped the board, sending a shower of splinters raining down. Ray heard a gun click, decided to fuck it, and noisily scrambled up in a totally dignified manner. He got himself behind a bunch of support beams and groped for his gun. Shit. He was used to being the sneaky one. Now he was the one who didn't have a damn clue where the target was.

Sticking his head out did jack shit for telling him where the sneaky son of a bitch was. He didn't hear footsteps so unless the asshole was a ghost, he was hiding too. So that was gonna make for a fun afternoon. And he had shit to do. This sucked.

“There's no use hiding,” Ray heard the intruder call out. His jaw dropped, and then he broke into a grin. No way… “Just come out before you make this worse for yourself.”

Ray couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. “Excuse you, motherfucker, it's my turn to be pissed at you for breaking in. You need to come up with the bullshit excuse this time, you asshole.”

It was quiet, and Ray could picture the Vagabond trying to work it out. “God dammit Ray,” he finally sighed, which made Ray laugh uproariously. Oh how the tables have turned. Now he knew how the Vagabond felt.

“Is there anyone else here?” the Vagabond called out. “Any other pieces of shit lurking around? Is my fucking cat here too?”

“God, no, I wish,” Ray sighed. “If I knew we were gonna have a hangout I woulda asked you to bring him.”

Ray hadn't dared go back to the Vagabond’s house since the older man gave him the key and code, but this was the first time they'd met outside of there, so Ray was interested in how this would turn out. Taking the Vagabond out of his comfort zone, where he was in charge, could have it ending badly for Ray. He was hopeful, though, because their last interaction had been so flirty. Maybe, just maybe…

“Ray, I'm fucking serious right now, if this is a setup, or an ambush or something-” 

“It's not,” Ray promised. “Look, I'm coming down, you can do a perimeter check or snoop around or whatever, okay? Just give me a second.” It'd taken some creative gymnastics to get to the rafters, and having to get down with the Vagabond watching was gonna be rough.

Ray monkeyed himself across the beams, to where the foreman’s office sat empty with a knarly set of metal stairs leading up to it. He didn't see the Vagabond, but he heard his footsteps over the sound of his jeans scraping across the boards. Damn, he was gonna have splinters for days.

Getting from the rafters to the stairwell was hard, but navigating the stairs was worse. Ray ended up booking it down the last few feet as they made scary groany noises, and gracefully dive-bombed to the floor over a missing section. He landed right at the feet of the Vagabond.

Ray rolled over so he was once again enjoying his favorite view of his favorite criminal - straight up, past the dad jeans and leather-covered chest, at his hidden face. “So, good-lookin, you come here often?” he asked in an oh-so-smooth manner.

“You're not funny.” The Vagabond offered a hand and pulled Ray to his feet. “You swear to me that there's no one else here? Is anyone else gonna show up?”

“Nope, we're pre-heisting right now. You don't have to worry.” Ray wondered if he should be telling the Vagabond this or not. They had both avoided talking actual business before - stupid stories were OK, but not actual jobs themselves. The Vagabond didn't even know what crew he was in, which was a good thing. “Why are you here?” Ray couldn't imagine why Mr. Suburban Dad would need an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city, but hey, he couldn't judge. He knew from experience that the Vagabond was nothing if not surprising.

“I wanted to check out their cold-storage rooms. I was thinking of getting a set. It'd make storing bodies easier.” Since Ray had assured him that no one else was coming, the Vagabond was a lot more relaxed. He even pushed up his mask so Ray could see his grin.

“God, you're full of shit.” Ray glanced at the ceiling, the stairs, and back to his companion. “You wanna give me a hand with this shit?” Since he was here, Ray might as well take advantage of him. God, he wished.

“What shit is this?” The Vagabond wisely asked. Ray grinned and walked back to the stairs. 

“Well, I'm gonna be dropping some cameras from the ceiling, and you can catch them. In the bag or with your head, up to you.” Ray retrieved the backpack he brought along and held it out to him with a grin. The Vagabond did not look amused.

“Is that why you were hanging out in the rafters? Jesus Ray, you could break your neck.” Ray gave him his best ‘you're shitting me’ look.

“Seriously? This is one of the least dangerous things I've done. Remember the whole ‘I shoot people’ thing?” The Vagabond took the bag from him, looking up to examine the ceiling. “I'm more likely to die in the heist later today, let's be real.” Ray started climbing up again, using the railing rather than the stairs to pull himself up.

“Out there you have a fighting chance. You're armed and have choices. Up there you slip or fuck up and you're done.” Ray could feel those dreamy blue eyes watching him with worry as he got to the rafter boards and started scootching across.

“Listen,” Ray reached the camera he'd been messing with earlier and attacked it with a screwdriver, “I'm a fucking parkour master, so I'm totally good right now. Heads up.” Ray dropped the cheap video recorder to the floor, and started tearing up the wires. He heard it crash to the floor.

“I really hope you weren't expecting me to catch that.” the Vagabond deadpanned. Ray laughed.

“This isn't my crew's shit, we don't know who it belongs to. Our boss isn't taking any chances, he wants them out.” Ray dumped a section of wire down and crawled over to the next one. “I don't think they're recording anyway. They look like shit.”

“No, these look like Wal-Mart brand webcams. Probably just there to look legit.” Ray heard him picking up pieces under him. 

“Do I detect some snobbery from you sir?” Ray leaned over to see his face again. The Vagabond looked small for once, staring up at Ray with concern. “Don't knock store brand, I grew up on that shit.”

“And now you're illegally defacing property that you broke into. Not a sterling testament there.”

“Oh like you can talk. I bet you were all straight-A’s and combed hair. Little mister perfect. I would have robbed your ass for lunch money.” Ray laughed, but fell quiet when he realized the Vagabond wasn't laughing. 

“It wasn't quite like that,” he said quietly, and Ray's stomach dropped. Oh, he'd fucked up. Here the Vagabond was, obviously taking steps to get his life back onto a normal legit track, and Ray had to go and bring up the past. Because if there was one thing consistent across the criminal underground, it was that having a shitty childhood was the fastest way to get in the life.

Ray couldn't imagine what shit a little guy would have to deal with to grow up to become the Vagabond. He didn't even want to know.

“Oh God!” Ray craned his head to look at what the Vagabond was yelping at. “Fucking snake just crawled across my foot.”

“Ooooh shit, the boss isn't gonna like that!” Ray laughed at the thought of Geoff's reaction. “He's a big fucking pussy around snakes.” He was glad the hard shit they'd been discussing seemed to be over, but he wasn't going to forget it soon.

Geoff had given him crap about his claiming to have a boyfriend, after he was done chewing him out for getting stabbed by some “bullshit mugger”. It wasn't that Geoff didn't believe him, he just couldn't believe Ray of all people had a prospective partner who was out of the life. But Ray told him to butt out and he did. Because even when he acted like a total dad, Geoff still knew when to give the boys space, like when Gavin was mopey or Michael was being too loud. He was cool like that.

But he knew the others were curious. Not curious enough to stalk his phone or follow him, but they still were interested. Ray couldn't blame them, but he couldn't let them know anything.

Ray never wanted to mix the two - his life with the crew and his time hanging out with the Vagabond. It was like a vacation from life, a whole other world where he didn't have to worry about funds or upcoming heists. The Vagabond never asked him any questions about his crew, and Ray didn't ask about his “retirement” plans. Because whatever he was saying, it was obvious that's what it was. Ray had never heard of anyone so notorious successfully getting out of the life, but the Vagabond had the advantage of always keeping his identity secret. If anyone could get out it was him.

Ray was fine with the criminal life - life fast die young and get rich trying - even if the Vagabond and Jack thought he was too reckless. But he was loving the flirting, the stress-free fun times away from the crew. The Vagabond clearly didn't want the criminal life anymore, no more than Ray wanted suburb life. But a taste of it now and then was good. For now.

Ray sent the last camera to the floor and began navigating back to the stairs of death. Halfway down, Ray's phone started buzzing. Ray balanced precariously as he pulled it out of his hoodie. It was Michael. Ray met the Vagabond’s eye, and the masked man nodded. They were still cool.

“Sup man?” Ray could hear the roar of the freeway behind Michael. “Is the warehouse bug free?”

“Yeah, as far as I can tell.” Ray jumped the last few feet down, holding firmly to his phone, and started walking to where the Vagabond was waiting. “I got all the cameras, at least, so that should be good enough.”

“Nice!” Ray smiled at his friend's enthusiasm. “I'll be there in, like, ten minutes. You might want to comm up, Geoff's been talking some mad shit about our next job, you should hear it. He's gone fucking nuts. It's gonna be big.”

“Awesome, yeah. I just gotta clean up still. I'll see you soon.” Ray hung up as he reached the taller man. “My friend's gonna be here in a few, so you better clear out.” He reached out for the bag of junk, but the Vagabond didn't relinquish it.

“I was wondering if I could keep these. There might be salvageable stuff here.” Ray eyed the bag and shrugged. He didn't know what could be built from shitty damaged cameras, but hey, more power to the Vagabond if he could. “I promise I'll delete any incriminating evidence of your crew.”

“Aww, thanks. You're a real pal.” Ray went to bump his shoulder as he walked past him to the loading dock where Michael would arrive, but instead the Vagabond caught him by grabbing his shoulder and swung him around.

“I don't suppose I'll be included in your heist’s take, will I? Especially since I _did_ help out.” He sounded serious, but not in the “I'm gonna stab you” way. This was a good-sounding serious.

“Well, you got your shitty smashed-up cameras for payment,” Ray pointed out. He hoped this was going in the direction he thought it was going.

“That's not good enough.” The Vagabond was pushing Ray back until his back hit a support beam, and he was caging him with those glorious arms. He was smiling down at Ray, a lazy smirk with all kinds of implications. Unlike last time, which had too much knives and threats to be enjoyable, Ray was loving every second of this.

“Well, there's always that blow job I owe you. If you're cool with that?” Ray was hoping he would be. Flirting was all well and good but if the Vagabond totally wasn't interested then it was not. Everything was saying he was interested, but for all Ray knew he could be stumbling into some trap and the Vagabond was tricking him into a false sense of security. Unlikely, but still. A possibility.

“No, I'm saving that. Got to buy you dinner first.” His voice was doing that _thing_ again, where it dropped low and made Ray's insides all shivery. Oh yeah, they were going there. All aboard, no brakes. The Vagabond put himself into Ray's space, his face inches from Ray's. “I want a kiss instead.”

Ray couldn't help himself, he snorted. “Oh my god, what are you, five?” he laughed. “That is so super cheesy. You don't have to fucking ask, man.”

“Okay, fine.” And before Ray could say anything else stupid, the Vagabond was kissing him, like it was the most natural thing ever. Ray felt his body warming from the first touch of those lips, opening against his. Gloved hands on his ribcage, pushing him back. The Vagabond was good, he knew how to kiss Ray just right, making his knees go weak so he had to hold on, put his hands around those big shoulders like he'd wanted to from the start. He wanted that notorious leather jacket off. He wanted him closer. He wanted the Vagabond’s lips everywhere, never stopping. He wanted this forever.

Ray was gone. He loved it, the Vagabond was clearly enjoying it (holy shit was he), pressed up against him. This was his life now. Never stop, never slow down.

Until the Vagabond pulled away abruptly, and Ray remembered - heist, making out with a dangerous criminal, oh yeah that must be Michael pulling up outside, shit. _Shit._

“Go, go, fucking go,” Ray pushed at him even as the Vagabond was pulling down his mask and stepping away. He had the bag of broken cameras and was out the back door before Ray could say bye.

Ray took a deep breath of cold warehouse air, willing his half-hard dick away. He needed to get out of Vagabond world, wonderful and full of kissing and future blow jobs as it was. It was almost time to heist, time to be a criminal again.

He knew what he wanted. He wanted it all, the criminal life and the Vagabond’s world. He was a selfish bastard who wanted both. And god dammit he would have both if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit is that foreshadowing???


	5. Always Ensure Your Escape Route and Backup Plans Are Ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jazz Hands* Here It Is!!! Action and Drama and SEX!!
> 
> Also, just be warned, there's a disturbing situation that happens in the middle of the story. It's resolved pretty quickly and doesn't affect the rest of the story. If it disturbs you I'm sorry.

This was it. Throw him a party and break out the cake, Ryan was done. As soon as this job was done he was done.

It was one last favor owed, brought up over the one last phone line he had connecting his criminal life to his mundane life. One last paycheck. One last job.

 _It's all over after this,_ he reminded himself as he drove to the location. _This is it. This is it._

And this job was a big one. If he was smart, he'd be able to live off this heist’s take for years. This was one of the biggest gangs in the city, and they needed muscle to move the goods.

But Ryan, the Vagabond, was so much more than muscle. He was the deterrent. This gang had been boasting for weeks that they had the Vagabond on their side, so any other group with half a brain would keep away. He'd even heard the cops were staying out of this.

At least they hadn't made the mistake of putting a skull mask on a random thug and trying to pass them off as the Vagabond. Ryan had made sure that no one would try _that_ again. There was still a bloodstain on the watertower left over from the last time it happened.

Of course, there were other rumors that said the Vagabond _wasn't_ going to show up. The Fake AH Crew, this gang's biggest competitor in the city, was apparently calling bullshit. Said there was no fucking way they'd drag him into what was essentially a moving job. And normally he wouldn't, but this was a lot of money. And he had big plans.

As much as he wanted to go back home to hang with his cat (he hadn't seen Ray for weeks, his crew had a big heist planned apparently), as much as he wanted to settle down...he did love this. The feel of adrenaline tingling his arms over the hum of the motor. The thrill of illegality. It wasn't just about the money. It was the rush. Ray, the little death-seeking git, he understood. Even if he was a little too reckless about it.

But that was why Ryan liked him so much.

He hated the “politics” side of it, if it could be called that. The constant posturing of one group against the other. Bragging and building each other up with more ridiculous claims and greater stakes. It was true that Ryan’s entire existence was based around being the biggest and most dangerous person around, but he didn’t have to like being part of it. It was one of the largest draws of being a solo artist.

But it wouldn't matter soon. He was almost done.

Ryan drove up to a large brightly-lit warehouse. There were cars and people everywhere - it looked like this crew had called in every one of its members to be a part of it. He hated this too - too many people looking at him. Smaller groups had always been his preference.

The gang's boss bounced up to him, all gold chains and thinning hair and cheesy grin. Ryan hated him. The git had no respect, thought that because he was boss meant he was untouchable. Ryan would love to prove otherwise.

“And here's the final piece!” the boss crowed as Ryan unloaded his guns. So stupidly theatrical, this guy. “We've been waiting on you, buddy, let's load ‘er up and get this damn convoy moving!”

 _Don't call me buddy_ Ryan internally groused. He stayed quiet, though, because that was expected. People were always surprised to find out he spoke normally, because the quiet dangerous type was more expected. But Ryan loved nothing more than being surprising.

They had a motorcycle waiting for him, a cheap little thing a bare step above scooter. They wanted him in front, visible. Fuck them and their theatrics.

As he loaded his guns, he watched as box after box of drugs were loaded onto an unmarked cargo truck. He normally avoided the drug trade - something he had in common with the Fake AH Crew, actually - but this was an exception. And he knew there was a difference between disproving of an action and profiting from it. He didn't have to like it, but he'd put up with it for money.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned behind his mask. That was his “work” phone, the one with the Vagabond’s number. Who was texting him?

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER** : Don't take this job. Please.

Ryan considered his phone, standing by his bike, loaded with guns. He could text back, but what was the point? He'd already agreed, he was in position, he couldn't walk away now, or he'd lose his reputation. And soon, that'd be all he had left.

But why “please”? Who the fuck would say _that_?

The arrival of a windowless van drew his attention from the phone. Apprehension curling in his gut, he watched as several dark-haired girls, barely out of their teens, were pushed from the van and lifted into the back of the cargo truck. They were terrified, huddled close and whimpering at the crude jeers of the crew. Ryan found himself moving forward and forced himself to stop. There was nothing he could do.

“Pretty girls, ain't they?” The boss appeared at his side, leering at the young ladies. “They're worth almost as much as that China White. God I love this shit.”

“You never said,” Ryan spoke evenly, trying to hold his anger down, “that we'd be transporting people.” 

The slimeball snorted. “Humans and drugs move hand-in-hand, my friend. You didn't have to take his job.” He slapped Ryan's shoulder and walked away, cackling. Ryan heard the girls shriek as the truck's door slammed closed.

 _Nothing you can do,_ he thought as he walked back to the bike. _Just do the job like you're damn told._ That voice, coming from the black pit inside him, washed over him like a heavy blanket, coaxing him to not have a care in the world. It was the one he'd turned from years ago. It was the darkness, the numbness, he'd let it take over as he killed and tortured and did not feel a thing. He'd told Ray not to become someone who didn't care, because that's what was waiting if he did.

But he wasn't like that now. He had a home, a cat, a piece of shit barging into his life that he really liked. He had a conscience now, pieced back together from the dark days. He could do something.

One last job…

Ryan went over his options as he got on the bike. Do the job, find where the drop point was, take the money, become Lawful Citizen Ryan and report it. Or get Ray, team up, and bust up the operation, guns blazing. But that was risky, involving Ray. He could do it himself.

He couldn't stand by this. He wasn't like that anymore. It was important to not be like that ever again.

The boss was strutting around, yelling directions at his flunkies. Ryan tuned most of it out. He'd be following the boss in the tricked out car in front, with bulletproof windows that would hopefully protect Ryan as well. They'd be leading the cargo van. So predictable.

He'd have to move quick, once they got to the drop point. He could even use his Vagabond number to call the cops, then ditch the phone, the identity, and the life and be done. He smiled to himself. Nothing would say “Fuck You” to his former employer like a betrayal in this fashion.

Ryan got on and gunned his bike into position as the group started moving. He thought he felt his phone buzz, but it could have been the motor, and he wasn't about to check. If it was the unknown number from before, they were too late. They were on the move.

He breathed deep and let himself fall into the sense of calm and capability he felt while on the job. He used to mistake the feeling as fearlessness, but he knew different now. He was the best, but even the best could die. All he could do was fight his best to keep that from happening.

Los Santos was quiet as they drove into the city. It was late - or early - the best time to do something stupid and illegal. Ryan steered with a gun in one hand, eyeing every alley and rooftop. He didn't think anyone was stupid enough to fuck around with this gang.

He thought wrong.

He saw the crackle of light coming from a dark alley on the right before his ears registered the roar of gunfire and the smacking sound of bullets hitting the car in front of him. He slammed on the brakes and bailed off the bike on instinct, gun up and firing at the alley without thought. He barely noticed when the cargo truck, slower to stop, ran over the piece of shit bike.

“Fuck ‘em up!” he heard the order yelled over the hail of more bullets, coming from up the street and behind the convoy. The voice was recognizable, even if they'd never met. It seemed Ramsey and his crew of Fakes had come to break up the party.

The windshield of the cargo truck shattered behind him, and a spray of blood filled the cab. Ryan looked to the roof across the street, saw the barrel of the Brownman’s pink sniper rifle move in his direction, and jumped for cover behind the truck's tire. He was still exposed to the alley and the street, but the gang he was with was finally getting their asses in gear and were shooting back at the Fakes.

Ryan heard a ‘thwump’ and looked up to see a sticky bomb stuck to the trailer. Without thinking he jumped up, grabbed the bomb, and threw it back behind the truck. He heard a squeal before it went off, knocking him down and making his ears ring. It looked like he accidentally threw the bomb at one of his gang's cars. Oops.

Bullets flew through the air around Ryan as he yanked open the back door. The girls were huddled in back, trying to avoid any bullets that were punching through the thin metal like it was nothing. “Get out of there! Now!” he barked. The girls didn't need persuading - they saw their escape waiting. Ryan gracelessly pulled them to the street and under the minimal cover between the truck and burnt-out car. 

Crouching over them, Ryan took inventory of the exits. Ahead was blocked - he saw a glimpse of one of the Mogar’s pretty tricked-out cars jamming the way, with the members of the Fakes firing like mad. They'd never make it out through the rear, too choked with shooting gang members. He only saw one way, the alley across the street, next to the building where the Brownman was sniping.

They'd have to run for it, and hope the angle of the building would help cover. And that the Brownman was decent enough not to fire at the victims.

Ryan reached behind him and grabbed one of the girl's hands. “Hey!” he raised his voice to be heard over the guns and yells, getting their attention. “You have to get ready to run, and follow me.” he told them. They were scared, but Ryan could feel the coiled energy of the group. They were ready. 

“Go!” Ryan rushed from cover, pulling one of the girls and leading the pack in a desperate dash across the street. Ryan kept his gun ready, but aside from a few stray bullets hitting the walls, mercifully no one fired at them. Ryan pushed the group through the narrow dirty alley. It was long and twisted, but the other side faced the highway, where even at this time of night there was traffic.

“Keep going. To the other side,” Ryan ushered them away, eyeing the alley behind them. They didn't seem to be followed. “Keep running until you get to the highway. Go!” The girl whose hand he held squeezed it once before fleeing, following the group towards the road and hopefully away from the shit behind them. If Ryan has any belief in such things, he would have wished them luck.

Ryan turned and ran back down the alley. It was stupid, but he had to know how the fight would end. If he left now, and his gang survived, they'd be out for his blood and he'd never be done. If the Fakes finished them off, he had to make sure they wouldn't hunt him down either. They were a tough little bunch, but he'd killed tougher gangs. He could take them.

Ryan got back to the scene of the fight just in time to see the gang’s boss fall in a hail of bullets. Ryan skidded to a stop and took in the scene in a second. The boss, lying in the bloody street. The cargo truck, gutted by a successful bomb. The rest of the gang, scattered, while the Fakes stood triumphant. Ryan saw it all, turned, and ran. There would be no payout, no need even to stay and fight. He was done.

“Hunt them down! Kill ‘em off!” Again Ramsey’s orders rang out, and Ryan felt a shiver of dread. He was too close, there was nowhere to hide and ditch the mask and leather jacket. Ambush opportunities were limited. He ran anyway, hearing footsteps behind him. If he could get to the highway...he’d be in full view and gunned down. But he had a chance.

There was always a chance. 

He saw the end of the alley, but it was suddenly obstructed, by a figure on a motorcycle. White opera mask and pink sniper rifle. Ryan didn’t slow down, he planned to just plow the Brownman over and take the bike, when the legendary sniper yelled at him. “Dude, stop! Get on!” 

Shocked, Ryan stumbled to a halt. That was Ray’s voice.

“Get on!” Ray - it was Ray, Ray was Brownman - pulled off his mask and leant over the handlebars as Ryan climbed on without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around the dumb kid’s skinny torso, pressed up against that notorious pink gun, as Ray steered them away, aiming for the highway and away from the scene of the battle. Ryan clawed his heavy latex mask off and stuffed it in his pocket. They couldn't be seen like this.

Ray was the Brownman. He was with the Fake AH Crew. He could have killed Ryan. But he didn't.

Ray soared through the streets, taking sharp turn and crazy routes. He threw an earpiece over a bridge as they passed, and Ryan let his phone follow, remembering their first ride together. It wasn't that long ago, but so much had changed. He thought they were friends, or something else. He thought things weren't going to end up like this.

They pulled up to Ryan's house in no time. Ryan got off first, and was halfway to the house when he realized Ray wasn't behind him. “Ray, come on.” It wouldn't be a fun conversation, but they needed to have it. Ray dismounted, his face turned away from Ryan. No mask, no looking.

Ryan held the door for Ray, who slowly walked inside, still not looking at Ryan's face. When the door was closed, Ray leaned back against it and slid to the floor, like he had the second time Ryan caught him in his house. Ray was cradling his sniper rifle to his chest, like it would protect him from Ryan's wrath. He folded into himself, swallowed by the big black hoodie. Ryan remembered how skinny he was under there. He could snap the boy like a twig.

Ryan reset the alarm and joined Ray on the floor with a sigh. The last rush of adrenaline faded, leaving him feeling hollow and unreal. It was a familiar sensation, even if he hadn't felt it for some time, since he started moving away from the life. He had to be Ryan now, not the Vagabond. Ryan was the one who had mercy for strays in his house.

“So...you're the Brownman.” It was a statement, an observation, and Ray nodded. “That's probably something you should have mentioned earlier.”

“Why, so you'd have another excuse to kill me?” Ray sounded like he was about to cry, Ryan realized in surprise. The boy was curled up into himself, a portrait of misery. He was glaring at the floor, making an obvious effort to not look Ryan in the face. “I can't talk my way out of this. I can't. I don't want to. If you fucking kill me I'd deserve it.” His voice grew more strained with each word, and he rested his face in his hands, muffling it further.

“I just thought that you didn't have to know, cause you were pretty much out of the life, and I thought we'd never run into each other on jobs. And then we did, and my boss, Ramsey, he was telling me to shoot you, but I couldn't. I couldn't fucking do my job.” Ryan was pretty sure Ray was crying, and not letting Ryan see it. He put his hand on Ray's back, because he understood.

If he'd known Ray was under the Brownman’s mask, and someone told him to shoot him, he wouldn't be able to do it either.

“I…I wanted to have both. I know it's fucking stupid, but I wanted to keep being your friend, and, you know, eventual fuck buddy or whatever. And keep sniping with the crew, cause they're my family, you know? I want to be their guy. I wanted everything to be good, but I guess...I can't have it like that.” Ray wiped at his face, and Ryan took the chance to grab his hand. It was wet, and he could feel the calluses from the gun, but Ray let him hold on.

“You could have warned me.” That was all Ryan could think of, surprisingly. He understood Ray's wanting, because he felt the same. But he thought they were friends, and he would have expected some decency towards alerting him to the danger.

“I did,” Ray said with a laugh. “You don't know how hard it is to get your phone number. You didn't text me back, you jerk.” Ryan frowned, and reached for his pocket automatically, before he remembered he'd tossed the phone. He pulled out the Vagabond mask instead, held it in his lap as he considered the text he'd received. _Please_. It had been Ray.

The thing was...Ryan wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. He couldn't feel betrayed, because Ray hadn't sold him out. He'd kept his mouth shut, even while his boss was planning Ryan's death, and even tried to warn him. He hadn't shot Ryan, when he had full opportunity and it was expected. If anything, he felt relieved, because it was Ray behind that gun, and not some stranger.

“How's your boss gonna handle this?” Ryan thought about what he knew about the Fakes. They were close, they worked mostly by themselves. Smart. They seemed decent.

“He's not gonna let this go. I left mid-heist, that's not cool.” Ray sighed. “Worth it though. Fucking YOLO, right? No regrets, I couldn't off ya and I'm not gonna. I paid you back for saving my life. I'll give you the blow job for free, though.”

“Well thank god for that.” Ryan gazed at his mask, an idea forming. Ray was being a miserable butt, probably thinking this was the last straw so Ryan had to kill him now. But that wasn't going to happen. He was done, so he might as well go out with style.

Ryan pushed himself up and went to the kitchen, leaving Ray by the door. He was pretty sure Ray wouldn't make a run for it. Edgar dodged past him, making a beeline to Ray. “Show him no mercy,” Ryan instructed his cat as he started wailing for attention.

Ryan opened his well-stocked knife drawer and considered his options. He took the fine filleting knife and the kitchen shears. There was no way he could do a perfect job replicating what he wanted, but he could do decently enough with what he had.

When he was done making a mess, Ryan walked back to the door. Ray was still avoiding looking at him, seeming very focused on giving Edgar a backrub. Ryan scooped up his cat one-handed and dropped the remains of his mask in Ray's lap. “Your work here is done, go be a pest somewhere else.” Edgar gave him a truly offended look and stalked off when Ryan threw him in the hall. 

Ryan turned back to see Ray holding the mask, staring at Ryan's handiwork. He'd jabbed a hole through the forehead, the size of a bullet from a sniper rifle, and cut out the back entirely, leaving straggling strips of latex. It was a passable replication of what getting shot in the head would do to his mask.

“What do you think?” Ryan asked. “Add some blood, maybe a little meat, I think it'd look good.”

“I don't…” Ray still sounded tired and scared. Ryan couldn't blame him. “I don’t get it. What is this?” 

“It's proof you shot the Vagabond. Congratulations, you've done what no one thought was possible.” Ray didn't seem to be taking it in fully, so Ryan kept talking. “You go to your boss, tell him you hunted me down, and got the shot. Burned my corpse or something. Kept the mask as a souvenir.”

“Dude, fuck no.” Ray practically threw the mask away. “Why the fuck would you want that? Like, I get you want to be done with this, but not this way. What the fuck! It's crazy! Why do you want me to do it?”

“Who the fuck else would do it? I trust you, that's why it has to be you. Think of the reputation you’re going to have.” Ryan’s words didn’t seem to be encouraging to Ray, and the little shit still wasn’t looking at him. Ryan sighed and sat on the floor in front of him, trying to get Ray to look him in the face. Ray actually shut his eyes to avoid him. 

“Ray, seriously, look at me. I'm fine with it, okay? I'm done being the Vagabond. That was my last job, and this was my last mask, and it's ruined. So I can't do jobs anymore, it's done. There's no point in avoiding this. Come on,” he pleaded.

Ray shook his head no, and Ryan groaned in exasperation. Stupid noble little shit. It was endearing, but annoying and unnecessary. Kinda like Ray.

Ryan smirked when an evil idea abruptly came to him. If Ray was going to be like this, then he would have to do something drastic. And, if Ray was willing to go along with it, it would not only get Ray to see him but it would move things in the right direction. 

With some difficulty, because Ray had a death grip on it, Ryan pried the sniper rifle from the cradle of his arms and laid it on the floor. He then leaned in close, right into Ray's personal space.

“You're being ridiculous. You’re gonna have to look at me at some point.” Ryan moved in, pushing his face into Ray's neck and gently kissing it. He felt Ray suck in his breath in shock, and grinned. He pressed his hands against Ray's hips, under the hoodie, squeezing them and letting his fingers rub against the waistband of his jeans. He lowered his voice, his secret weapon, because he knew Ray loved that. “I feel like I owe you a blow job now, but I'm not gonna do it unless you look at me.”

Ray groaned unhappily. “Oh my god are you serious right now?” He gasped when Ryan put his teeth to work, scraping lightly at his skin and pressing open mouth kisses moving up to his chin. Ryan was loving this. His hands moved to Ray's stomach and down, pressing against the fly of his jeans, and Ray's hips jerked at the pressure. “If you're not gonna blow me, what’re you doing?” His voice rose in pitch when Ryan blew on the wet patch of skin on his neck.

“I told you. I'm not giving you a blow job.” Ryan pulled back from Ray's neck to gently kiss him on the lips. “I'm gonna keep _not_ giving you a blow job until you look at me. I can do this for hours,” he switched to kissing the other side of Ray's neck while his hands moved up under Ray's shirt, rubbing his lower chest. “How long can you hold out?”

“Oh my fucking god you're evil.” Ray squeaked when Ryan's fingers strayed up to his pecs, brushing his nipples. “You're a fucking bastard.”

“You love it.” And that was certain, Ray was enjoying the shit out of this, Ryan had felt the proof. “Imagine what I'd be doing if I was mad at you though.” Ray's hands were suddenly in his hair and against his cheek, pushing him away from his neck, and he reluctantly sat back. He sighed when he saw Ray's eyes were still scrunched closed.

“Seriously. What the fuck does that mean? Why the hell _aren't_ you mad at me!? I don't get it.” Ray sounded frustrated, and not in the good way. Ryan sighed and took both of Ray's hands, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Ray's.

“I'm not mad because there's nothing to be mad about. We're both getting exactly what we want, right? I want out of the life, and you fucking tied up in my bed, and that's what's happened, or going to happen,” that got a snort out of Ray, that was good, “and you can keep sniping for your crew, and breaking into my house to plot with my cat and fuck with me whenever. Okay? This all works out, you're just hung up about my identity, which, to be honest, is sweet, but I feel like you've earned getting to know the real me.” Ryan leaned forward to quickly kiss Ray again, pleased when the kid finally reciprocated.

“I trust you, you little asshole. I have since the start, cause I'm an idiot who got old and let his guard down. And you're a danger- loving dumbass who won't leave me alone, and I kinda love it. If you want to keep this _up_ ,” Ryan made the emphasis clear, “then you should be able to look me in the face. Because fucking you with the mask on is a little too kinky for a first run. Same with you keeping your eyes closed, it's kinda putting me off. So quit it.” To drive his point home, Ryan bit at Ray's lower lip while he grabbed Ray's hands and pinned against the door over his head.

“You know what's off-putting? You talking like that.” Ray was breathing hard, apparently enjoying everything that was happening, and obligingly kept his hands pressed up against the door when Ryan let go to see if there was an easy way to get him out of the hoodie. “When the fuck did you get so chatty?” Back to the jokes, as if Ryan hadn't just blabbed all his private thoughts at him. He appreciated it. At least Ray knew now.

“Well, the Vagabond had to be intimidating, and menacing,” Ryan dropped his voice again, and appreciated Ray's full-body shiver as he went back to kissing his throat. He coaxed the hoodie zipper down, dragging it out teasingly. “But since I'm Ryan now, I can talk however the fuck I feel.”

“Oh, fuck man. For real? What the fuck? Is that the name you're going with? Really?” Ray moved his arms down to help Ryan slip his hoodie off, but put them back up when Ryan nudged them. “That's the fucking most suburban dad name ever, are you serious?”

“That's actually my real name,” Ryan admitted, putting a hold on the kissing to consider their location. If they wanted to keep things going, then it shouldn't happen on the floor. His knees were killing him. The living room was closer. He moved to pick Ray up but stopped when Ray abruptly grabbed his face.

“You're using your real name? Are you crazy?” Ryan sighed and shook his head.

“That's my middle name, I went by my first to most people. Anyone who's ever known me as Ryan is dead.” A partial truth, but Ray didn't have to know those details, especially not right now. Ryan gripped Ray's hands, squeezing lightly. “Don't worry about it, I have it covered. And now you know my name, you already knew where I live and what I've done. So why won't you look at me?” He chewed his lip, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again. “Afraid of what you'll see?”

For a long couple of seconds, Ryan wasn't sure if it would ever work. But then Ray's eyes finally cracked open, almost shyly. For the first time, he was looking Ryan in the face. Ryan smiled sweetly at him. “Hello there.”

“Oh my god you're hot, I fucking knew it.” Ray's eyes scoured his face, finally taking him in. Ryan knew he was no better than his cat, but he was enjoying the attention. It was good to finally be seen like this. “I was worried I'd be more prettier than you, but that's not a problem.” Now Ray leaned forward to kiss him, and Ryan melted into it, finally relaxing. He wasn't expecting Ray to run screaming at the sight of him, but it was good to know Ray was finally able to see all of him.

Almost all...

Ryan pulled back and stood, pulling Ray with him. “Now you get that blow job after all, aren't you happy?” He practically dragged Ray into the living room and pushed him down onto the couch, the same damn couch where it all started. Ray went willingly, pulling Ryan down on top of him. Now that he was actively participating, Ray was surprisingly bossy, yanking at the notorious blue leather jacket until Ryan dropped it to the floor.

“What about that dick suck I owe you? When do I pay that back? Ray pushed Ryan's plain t-shirt up and seemed stumped by the bulletproof vest Ryan was wearing under it. “Damn, and here I was thinking you had some serious fucking rock-hard abs.”

Ryan helped him unbuckle the straps, letting the heavy fabric and uncomfortable metal fall aside. “I told you, I have to buy you dinner before you blow me.” He was serious about that, he wanted to do at least some of the whole romance thing with Ray. The kid deserved to be spoiled sometimes.

Once his t-shirt was off, Ryan stripped Ray of his. He could see what he was doing, and he wanted to touch Ray _everywhere_. Ray had crossed his arms over his himself, suddenly looking shy and unsure, so Ryan aimed down, rubbing his scruffy cheeks again Ray's stomach and kissing him there sloppily. He grinned like a madman when Ray laughed.

Ryan was glad that they'd had their stupid conversation, even if it was a time waster, because it cleared up any concerns he'd had about moving ahead with this. They were moving fast, but it felt right, and Ray was fully all aboard. His fingers released Ryan's hair from his ponytail and began playing with the strands, and Ryan bit his lip when a shock of pleasure rushed through him. He hadn't felt like this for years, but he was feeling it now, his pants uncomfortably tight against his dick. He forgot how good it was to trust someone like this.

“Oh my god,” Ray groaned as he twined his fingers in Ryan's hair, “I keep trying to think of you as Ryan, but I keep thinking Vagabond, and thinking ‘the Vagabond’s gonna blow me’ keeps messing with my head. Like holy shit, how did this happen?”

“You broke into the wrong house, that's how.” Ryan unzipped Rays jeans and roughly yanked them down. He was done with moving slow to torture Ray; there would be more time for that later. 

“Oh my god,” Ray moaned when Ryan wrapped his hand around his dick and gently stroked it. Ryan pushed himself down so he was between Ray's legs, making himself as comfortable as possible on the old couch. Ray was pulling his hair hard, and Ryan had to shake his head so he loosened up.

“Unless you want me to go bald, take it easy with my hair.” Ryan put his face down to Ray's dick, giving it a nice long lick from the bottom to the head. “Unless you prefer that look, that is.”

“Dude, stop talking and blow me already,” Ray whined, and Ryan obliged him. It'd been some time since he'd done this, but he knew what he himself liked, so he started with that. He swallowed him down, not taking him deep but using his tongue and suction to drive Ray crazy. Judging from the way Ray jerked his hips and moaned, he was successful. 

Ryan felt another rush of pleasure, this time a warm glow from making Ray feel like this. He pulled off to run his tongue around the head, his fist moving lower along the shaft. Ray was fully hard, and leaking from the tip, and Ryan knew he wouldn't last long. But there'd be lots more opportunities for this later.

Ray's fingers moved down, out of his hair so he was stroking Ryan's face as he worked his mouth around his dick. Ryan closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. He pulled off for a moment, just to turn his head and kiss the center of Ray's hand. A thank you, for trusting him, and not killing him, and ultimately for breaking into his house. For taking a chance.

He moved his mouth back to Ray's dick, pressing open-mouthed kisses and licks to it. “Oh man, oh god, don't stop.” Ray's voice was high and breathy, barely audible over his heavy paying. “Don't you ever fucking stop, oh my god, I'm gonna have so much sex with you, I'm not gonna let this go, man, this isn't it. Don't stop, please!”

His voice pitched up into a whine, hips pistoning and fingers tightening in Ryan's hair when Ryan took him back into his mouth. Ryan had to hold down on his hips when he abruptly spilled into Ryan's mouth, swallowing him down until Ray went limp against the couch. He pulled back to give Ray a shit eating grin, coughing slightly. “So does that mean you're down to give me a hand with this?” He nodded his head towards his crotch, where he was still sadly clothed and hard.

“Yeah, god, give me a fucking minute, okay?” Ray sighed, his arm draped over his eyes. “It's not every day some retired criminal gives you head. _Fuck me_.”

“Not right now, I've got plans for that.” Ryan pushed himself up so he was hovering over Ray. He loved having his mask off around him, loved that Ray could finally see him, touch his face and hair. He loved being with Ray. “And I don't think the couch could take it, honestly.”

“Yay,” Ray agreed with a sigh, “but seriously, I wasn't joking, we're gonna have so much sex together, like, all of the fucking sex.” Ryan had to laugh at his enthusiasm.

“Absolutely.” He agreed. He caught sight of a tail over the edge of the couch, and leaned over to meet Edgar's eye. “Do not even think about coming up here,” he said sternly. Edgar appeared to be thinking it over, tail swishing.

“Oh man, let me get my pants up. I don't want him to jump on me.” Ryan helped him sit up and pull up his pants, glaring at Edgar until the cat stalked away.

“Dumb cat,” Ryan muttered, but started when Ray’s hands brushed his chest. Those smaller fingers traced over a knife scar hesitantly, and Ray bit his lip as he took in all the marks on Ryan's chest and arms. Burns, stab wounds, and a few puckered scars from people shooting him with bullets and, once, nails. Ryan could walk away from the life, but he'd always have a reminder of what he did.

Ray didn't seem to be bothered by it, though. “This is fucking amazing,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss the center of Ryan's chest. Ryan sighed in pleasure, feeling Ray's hands move south, finally. “Fucking badass, man, I want to see you shirtless more often.”

“Fucking flattery,” Ryan gulped when Ray undid his jeans, gently coaxing out Ryan's dick. Now his hands were in Ray's hair, running through the short strands, causing it to stick up. “Don't even think of blowing me right now.”

“Nope, not gonna,” Ray was getting his revenge now, sucking on Ryan's neck until knew he would have a mark, then licking it softly. “I'm a fucking handjob master, though. The fucking best.” He wasn't lying either, moving his hand with a lot more finesse than Ryan managed with his mouth.

Ryan groaned, resting his head against Ray's shoulder as the younger man twisted his wrist just right and squeezed exactly the right way. He always thought of himself as something of a stoic lover - compared to the remarkably mouthy Ray, he was practically silent - but he couldn’t help showing his appreciation for Ray’s skills. He could feel Ray smirking against his neck, the little shit was loving what he was doing to Ryan. He could tell already that they were going to have fun together.

Ryan gripped the back of Ray’s head and neck and gasped, hips jerking, when he climaxed, splattering over Ray’s hand. Ray smirked in his face when he wiped it off on Ryan’s shirt. “So are you going to kick me out now, or do we wait around for round two?”

“You’re not going fucking anywhere.” Ryan used his larger size to his advantage, pushing Ray down onto the couch and pulling him close. “Its post-coital cuddle time. Maybe we’ll do round two later, but I gotta recharge.”

“God, you’re an old fart.” Ray wasn’t complaining about the cuddles though. He wiggled himself into a comfortable position lying at Ryan's side. It wasn’t totally comfortable, since it was on the couch, but they could make it work for a while, at least until Ryan got too stiff and they had to move to the bed.

“So...I’ve been thinking about my bullshit excuse…” Ray smirked into Ryan's neck. “I followed you, avoided getting shot with some sweet ninja moves, and got the drop on you to shoot you in the head. Sound good?”

“Sounds fucking perfect,” Ryan replied, already planning how to cement all the details of the deception. He’d need blood, and a way to add enough details to Ray’s story so his crew wouldn’t be suspicious.

But that could wait until tomorrow. Right now he was going to cuddle, and enjoy it, to make up for the years of this he missed. 

He had all the time in the world now. He was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End??????
> 
> God, fuck no. I’ve got disgusting domestic fluffy shit to add. And...other stuff… just not in this fic. It'll be a series, so keep an eye out for more.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who read, commented, and kudos-ed this story. You’re all wonderful and deserve nice things. Hope you enjoyed this.


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